


X-Men Re-Evolved

by kkhohoho



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Reboot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkhohoho/pseuds/kkhohoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is an almost proven fact that humanity evolved from the apes and chimpanzees long ago, to better adapt to their environment. But what if the environment is not yet ready for the evolution to come? What if the 'old model' - humans - feared that the next stage of humanity - mutants - would overtake them all? In such a world, people who simply look rather different than the common man, who would still like to think of themselves as part of 'the common man', are practically accosted at every turn by a populace who does not understand them. And so they fear them. And so they hate them. And hate only begets more hatred, as a group of... different mutants have understood. There is a subspecies of mutants that number only in the hundreds, but unlike most mutants, they have powers far beyond common man, or even common mutant. This only adds to the fuel to the fire, but some of these mutants don't want that to be case. They seek to unite both humans and mutants under one roof, both by protecting humans and mutants alike, and speaking out publicly to bring them together. This then, is the world... of the X-Men.</p><p>(Disclaimer: This is a reboot of X-Men continuity, and does not take place within any prior established continuity.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pixie

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. As said in the disclaimer, this work does not take place within established continuity. It takes place in a world all it's own, much like Marvel Master 616's X-Men Supreme, if you've ever read or heard of that. Now, I love the X-Men, I really do.(And for those unaware, the X-Men are a group of 'mutants'; people born with powers and/or different appearances that set them apart from their fellow man, but the X-Men seek to protect their fellow man as well as mutant.) But these days, they just aren't going where I'd like them to go. Most of the X-Men are hiding out in their fancy mansion, which they actually did for ages on end before Grant Morrision. (And even when not in the Mansion, they still hid out.) Morrison had the right idea; they still operated out of the mansion, but they didn't hide in it. They opened their doors to all, were ousted as mutants publicly, and operated with the world on a regular basis. Fraction also had the right idea; his run was of... dubious quality, no doubt, but he moved the X-Men to San Fransisco, and in doing so, they operated far more frequently with the world outside of their little hideaway. That is, until Fraction went and put them in a brand new hideaway, which sort of defeated the purpose of moving them away from New York and the mansion to begin with.
> 
> I've also grown a tad irritated with the stagnation of the X-books recently. On one hand, a small fraction is getting out there, attending rallies, making public appearances, and making themselves known, but as I've said, the larger portion is still stuck in their mansion. But more than that, it's become apparent that either the X-Men will never reach their goal of co-existence, or that alternatively, the situation will never go the other way into the crapper, because 'X-Men; can never end; it has to keep selling comics, and so, one way or the other, nothing will be achieved. And with most Superhero series, this works; most Superheroes don't have long-term goals, or if they do, those really just continuing to fight crime and save the world. (Which still isn't a bad thing at all, mind you.) Not so with the X-Men; they actually have a long-term goal that they're working towards beyond just saving the world; actually, they wish to save the world in a different way, with the intent on making it a better place than it was, rather than just making sure it exists without major change. But due to the nature of comics, they will likely never be able to attain this goal.
> 
> And all of that in mind, this is where this series comes in. They idea is to create a X-Men universe where, from the beginning, the X-men are NOT hiding. Their presence still isn't known to the wider world at the very start, but that's because they're still just getting started, and even then, the Xavier Institute is still open at the beginning. It's just that the X-Men have yet to attend rallies, hold news conferences, get on talk shows, the works. That's what they need to do if they wish to get anywhere close to co-exsistance; make their presence known, and in a peaceful way, but assertive way, and that's what they intend to do, after they get their first full team together. But at the same time, there were still be plenty of people, mutant and human alike, who rather disagree with the X-Men's line of thinking. People who either think that mutants should be eradicated, or that humans should be crushed under the mutants heel. Or perhaps even a rare few who seek to strike at humans and mutants alike. And if they do strike -- and they will -- then the X-Men will be there to take them down, and protect both human and mutant. And the X-Men hope that, in doing so, they will further bridge the gap between the two, showing that there are some mutants who wish to protect all life, and not just part of it.
> 
> That then, is the series I want to create, but it will still use many X-Men characters and themes. Most importantly, it will actually have an ending, but I can't say just what that ending will be just yet. I can say that it hopefully exemplify just what the X-men are all about. And with all that out of the way, let us enter the world of... X-Men: Re-Evolved.
> 
> (And just an FYI, this series will usually update on Sunday Nights and Mondays. Also, there will be two chapters in this first update, but most will usually only have one chapter.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As our series begins, a young lass finds that her world will never be the same. But not necessarily for the better...

"Now class, if I may advise you to turn to page 666 – very fitting, considering the little hellspawns some of you no doubt are..."

 _Booooring_ , thought Megan. Seriously, could the little hand on the clock move _any_ slower? Bad enough that she and her family had to move from Wales all the way to America; Wales was _pretty!_ And _fun._ Why in Oberon's name did they _ever_ have to move, and for reasons that her parents never seemed to want to explain to her other than, 'Well deary, we figured a change in scenery would do us all a world o' good, help yer ailing granda' to be certain...'? It just didn't make any sense to her at all. And now, here she was, sitting down on her tush all day listening to old men and woman drone on and on and _on._ Mind you, that was how it tended to be in Wales anyway, but at least for her, things tended to be a bit more... _interesting,_ is all. At the least, her old highschool always had the most gorgeous view of the tall veridian woods. Funny, that; she always seemed to have a certain... longing for those woods, or _any_ woods, really. Hell, she'd even thought about running starkers through them once or twice-

_***BONG! BONG! BONG!*** _

And that was that. Time for action, adventure, excitement! ...Well, perhaps not so much of either, but it would still be better than that horribly long day of class she just had to sit through. She ran her hands through her blonde hair – which always had just a tinge of pink to it, for reasons that, again, her parents never bothered to explain to her, but everyone else merely thought it was die – and darted straight out of the class. Time for home, for freedom, for _pixie-sticks,_ for-

"Hey, mutie!" **  
**

Now that was odd. 'Mutie?' She hadn't been in America that long, but you'd think she would have heard that particular oddity elsewhere in her lifetime. She slowly whirred her head, but when she got a look at whoever just threw out that... insult, perhaps? Whoever said that, it didn't actually seem to be directed at her. Instead, it was... why, she was just a girl! It was... three, yes, three boys, all ganging up on a defenseless girl. How could they do such a thing?

"Oi, wankers!"

The boys slowly turned around, giving Megan a few rather mean looks. Megan didn't so much as bat an eyelash, and why should she? The tossers, picking on a-

And then she got a good look at the girl. Her back was facing the lockers, and she was practically quivering, but right next to her right foot was a rather wide headband. And right smackdab in the middle of her forehead-

 _Wait._ "Is that a third eye you've got there?"

"You can see it, can't you?", said one of the boys. "My girl said she got a real good luck at it the other day. Had to see if it was true. Well, guess what? It's frickin' true!"

Well now. That was a different... no. No.

"No. You know what?", said Megan. "It's certainly a bit strange, to be certain, but, you know, people are.. people are all _different,_ yeah? I mean, so what if you've got brown hair, black skin... a third eye, we're all still people here now, are we not? I mean, what if _you_ had a, a, I don't know, a third _ass?_ What about that?!"

"...You implyin' I already had a _second_ ass?", say the boy, as he drew out a very fine switchknife.

"...Uh, ahem... no," said Megan. "No, not... not particularly, no, eh-heh..."

She just _had_ to go one too far. Then again, it wouldn't have been the first time. Just back away, thought Megan. Just back away _slowly..._

"Uh, hey; welsh girl?", said the boy. "You might want to not be takin' so many steps back..."

The boy's warnings didn't really register. "What do you _mean,_ _'_ not taking so many steps back?!' I mean, it's not like I said you had, you had three asses,or anything of the sort, right, _right!?"_

"Uh, girl...," said the boy.

"I mean, come on," said Megan, "we're all friends here, right _ **-**_!"

_OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD, OHCRAP, WHY DIDN'T I NOTICE THE BLOODY CONSTRUCTION TAPE, SURE THERE WAS A RAILING, SO BLOODY HIGH UP, ONLY PART OF IT WAS UNDER CONSTRUCTION FOR WHO KNOWS WHY- huh?_

Somewhere in between her frantic, desperate thoughts and what would surely be her inevitable bloody fall to the long floor below, Megan finally noticed that something was... _different_ about her. Come to think of it, the world wasn't upside down anymore. And she _did_ hear a rather loud sound – sort of like a ' _RIP'_ – coming straight from her back. Almost like her shirt – wait; did she suddenly spurt new arms from her back or something? Because she felt something there...

She turned her head to try and see just what was going on with her back, and-

"Oh... my... God... _"_

She could scarcely believe it. And, how could she not? Jutting out from her back were too rather large and rather fairy-like _wings._ And they were flapping like a cat in heat. Funnily enough, it seemed that all it took was consciously thinking about her wings flying, and-

"Oh no, no _t ag_ ain--!"

Come on you wings, right, flap fl _ap flap flap flap, COME ON, FLAP FLAP FLAP FLAP FUCKING FLAP-!_

Just several feet before she would have hit the ground, her wings started flapping like a motorboat once again. Now all she had to do was land – a task easier said then done, but slowly, oh-so-slowly she went, bobbing about in the air like so much live bait, until finally, at long last, she _landed._

 _Wings. I've got_ wings. _How's_ that _gonna' work? Although, this is actually kind o' cool!...Hey, is it just me going into well-justified hysteria, or-_

No; Megan was not mistaken. She was, in fact, getting shorter.

_Oh, come on...!_

Once looking over all at a magnificent 6'2, Pixie could swear she was now no higher than a 4'0, and she now had the slumping, baggy clothes to prove it. She almost thought they might just slip away, but strangely, she seemed rather comfortable with that thought. And the fields – the _fields_ , the forest; it was almost as if they were... calling to her-

"Oh my God, _"_ said someone from the crowd," is that-"

"It's a fuckin' mutie!", said another. **  
**

"Hey, are the mutie's pants about to fall off?"

"Who cares? Freak of nature, that's what they all are...

"Hey, are you gettin' this on your phone?"

"Come on! Mutants are people too!"

"Have you ever eaten with one?"

"It's a mutie! Someone call the cops!"

'Mutie?' Isn't that what they were calling the girl from just a moment ago? But... come to think of it, she had heard reports of them back in Wales every now and then, but she supposed she must have had paid little attention to them, if she wasn't remembering them on the spot. And why should she have? They couldn't have _possibly_ had anything to do with her, right?

_Right?_

"Hey,," said another bystander, "whatchu' all doin'? Get that friggin' mutie!"

She had to get out of here. If anything else, she knew that. But...

She had to take the girl with her. She was a 'mutant' too, right? She flapped her wings again, almost instinctively now, and flew up to the broken tape that she'd previously fallen through. Whoever was working on putting in a new set of rails, they had better be _fired_ after her rather near-death experince, if nothing else. Actually, other more... 'mischievous' thoughts came to mind about the potential fates of the various construction workers, but she pushed those aside; she needed to get the girl. She also found herself pushing aside her hair; it seem rather mangy now, maybe even long; she swore she could feel it brushing against her heels as she flew. She flew up and landed straight down in front of the girl, who had been looking at the sight below, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, and now, she turned to face Megan, and –

"No," said the girl, "no, get _away_ from me!"

_What?_

"...What?", said Megan.

"No, no," said the girl, "you're, you're a mutant, aren't you?! Get away!"

"But," said Megan, "but you're a mutant too," said Megan, "aren't you?"

"No!" The girl was practically screaming at the top of her lungs. "You're a, you're a mutantmutant!

"'Mutant mutant?'," said Pixie. " Lass, that has to be the most inane, blighted- look. You remember me, right? I tried to save you, right?"

"You're, you're different now," said the girl." You've got... you've got pink hair, black eyes, elf ears, huge wings... hey..." The girls' expression gradually seemed to change from one of fear, to one of immense glee. "You're a fairy!"

Well, that was a quick turnaround ,wasn't it, thought Megan. "Uh, yes! Yes, I'm a... I'm a fairy, a pixie, that's right! Now, if the both of us can get out of here in just a tick..."

"HEY!", yelled another kid. "THE MUTIE'S OVER HERE! AND... YEAH! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!"

"Yeah, you're right!," yelled yet another kid. "...The younger one looks mostly normal, 'cept for the eye. But the other one-"

"Yeah," said the other kid, "the other one's a fucking morlock! Get her!"

"Is that a jet?" _,"_ said another kid.

"Come on lass!" said Megan.

"But-"

"No buts!" She took the girl – who didn't honestly know _what_ to think at this point – and flew out through one of the open windows, into the fine spring air. And it just so happened that the first thing she saw was-

"Is that a jet?"

She could scarcely believe it. Coming down from the blue skies above like a crowing blackbird was a sleek, humming mass of black metal. It landed on the wide school fields. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was here to carry her and the girl away from this awful, _awful_ dream. ...Except it probably _wasn't_ a dream, was it? Though in some ways, it might as well have been. On the one hand, she could now soar into the very heavens themselves, she bet. And somehow... it just felt _right._ As if this was how things were supposed to be all along. Funny how she still wanted to just tear it all straight off and-

"Hey, is that a-", said a civilain.

"It's a mutant! Run!", said another.

"And we," said Megan, " should be doin' the same. Come-"

_Wait..._

Okay; that last thought was nother own. What in-

_Hello there. Megan Gwenn, is it?_

_...What's it to you? And how do you know my name? And how are you in my_ head? _...Maybe this_ is _all a dream. Maybe my fantasies of strutting starkers in the forests were just the first signs, and everything else is just the rest of a bizzare psychotic episode that's been building up in my blessed noggin for years now..._

 _Okay, Meggan? Take it from someone who's actually_ had _'psychotic episodes'; this is anything_ but _a 'psychotic episode.' Yes, you do in fact have pink hair, black eyes, large wings, your clothes are starting to fall off-_

_Wait; how can you be seeing me from-_

_I'm 'hijacking' another set of eyes, as it were. Not actually controlling them or their thoughts; I'm just hitching a ride for a bit. But Meggan; you don't really know_ what _you are. Not really. And trust this from someone's who gone through so much that I hope_ you _never have to go through; this is_ real. _This_ is _reality_. _And if you walk away – or fly away, as it were – if you fly away now, things are_ not _going to be easy for you. And your friend won't be much better off either. Not to mention, you don't even understand yourself that well-_

 _How do_ you _know how well I understand-_

_You've already been having... strange thoughts, haven't you? With some of us, the change is only physical; on the outside. But for others-_

_Wait; how are you doing all this? Is this some sort of... some sort of super-secret techno-telepath_ thing? _Because if it_ is, _that would be both incredibly scary, and incredibly_ cool-

 _Megan. The jet is opening it's doors as we_ think. _I do want to help you, but to do that, I need you to come with us. We might be able to see your parents later, but-_

_'Might?'_

_Megan, we're only trying to help. Please..._

'Help', she said. On the one hand, this telepathic whatzitz, whatever it was, was... rather awesome. On the other hand... but still, she didn't really have much of a choice, did she? It was either flying off into the for- ...flying off to who knows where, staying here and letting things fall as they may, or getting onto the... very cool jet that looked like something you'd only see in the movies and was so shiny and cool and-

"Hey, girl," said Megan to her passenger. "You want to take a little trip?"

"...You mean on the jet?"," said the girl.

"Yeah," said Megan.

"...Cool!"," said the girl.

And as Megan flew off into towards the jet, she couldn't help but agree. It was cool. Scary, but cool. Much like her own personal changes. But perhaps whoever she had just 'spoken' with could make the 'scary' part much less scary. And as the she flew up the jet's ramp, and as the jet's door's closed, and as the massive crowd upon the campus began to surround it in wonder, and as it began to take off high into the air, the woman who had put her thoughts into Megan's spoke to her once more...

_Oh, and by the way? I'm Jean Grey._

_Tidy._


	2. Fitting in the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Pixie continues to be inducted in this strange new world of mutants, other pieces and players start to move forth...

X-Men Re-Evolved: Chapter 2

"...Tidy."

This was something else. If the last five minutes would not change Megan's life forever, this – the grand inner body of the jet she had just flown into – would, even if she would not be able to tell just howfor some time. She always used to have quite the distrust of advanced technology – 'You've got your tushes parked too long in front a' yer silly laptops and you keep checking those silly texts instead a' having some actual conversation!', she often used to say, though he sometimes wondered as if there was some deeper meaning behind a girl her age not liking what other girls her age practically ogled over – but this was almost enough to win her over. It actually served a practical purpose, for one – not everyone could fly like herself, and she certainly couldn't have just yesterday – but part of her still possessed some sort of innate distrust for it. Still, this time, she couldn't think of any proper excuse not to like it. As for the tripled-eyed girl...

"Cool!"

...she was content. She ran for the nearest window, looking down at the ground below. "They... they can't get us now, can they?"

 _I_ really _wouldn't think so..._

There she was again! Only this time, she could somehow 'feel' where the thought was coming from; almost as if she was letting her. Although there might not have been much of a need, considering she was-

"Right behind you."

She whirled around, and-

"Well, there you are," said Megan. "Didn't expect you to be so tall. And who's the bloke?"

Standing in front of Megan and the girl was a tall woman with long, fiery wavy hair that reached down to just above the waist. Standing next to her was a rather well-built fellow with one hell of a sixpack. His brown hair was well-cropped, and both him and Jean were wearing … spandex? Yes-sir-ee; sleeveless black leather across the body, with yellow gloves&booties, and a small black&yellow 'X' emblem upon their right breasts. Perhaps they were getting ready for a show? But more importantly-

"What's that you've got there?", Megan asked. "Some new sort of sunglasses?" The more correct term would likely have been 'visor'; a sleek, ocular yellow visor with ruby-red lens that completely obscured the man's eyes.

"Uh, Megan...," said the tall woman...

"It's fine, Jean," said the man. "Name's Scott Summers, otherwise known as Cyclops. You must be Megan, right?" He then turned to the triple-eyed girl. "And you?"

"Huh?" The three-eyed girl shuffled around her feet while looking downward, as if asking such a question was the equivalent of saying your straps were hanging off the end. "Uh... Cory. Cory Smith."

"Glad to meet you, Cory." The man known as Cyclops tried his best to smile, but at best could only raise his lips slightly in a sort of vain gesture.

"You'll have to excuse Scott," said Jean. "He means well, he really does. But sometimes..." Jean then cast a brief, cold glance at Scott; lover's quarrel, perhaps? That sounded fun, at least to Megan. No, really, it did. Only she wasn't sure why... "Sometimes,", said Jean, "he just doesn't always know how to show it."

"Look Jean," said Scott, "I'm sorry, okay? But-"

"Hey, pipe down back there! Can hear it all the way from the front seat! Need to be able to steer this thing, 'less you want us to crash..."

Obviously, that was the pilot. And boy, did _he_ sound crossed. One too many nickers in a twist, perhaps?

Jean and Scott first looked towards the front of plane, then towards each other, almost longingly, but then turned aside from one another once again.

"Uh... ahem," said Jean to Megan and Cory.. "Uh, yes. That would be Forge."

'Forge?' What, was his mutant ability to 'forge' anything he ever wanted to? Somehow, that didn't exactly sound like 'Cool-Powers-Central' to Megan. Of perhaps she just wasn't using her imagination much. "He's the pilot?"

"He is until we can get an... alternative means of transportation," said Cyclops. "We're already looking into one or two-"

"Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait WAIT!", yelled Megan. "...Look, I... I appreciate everything you've done for me, I truly do, but-"

"But," said Jean, "you need to know who we are, what we do, and-"

"And why you came and saved me," said Megan, "yeah. Never really thought I all was that special." Of course, that was a bold-faced lie, but if Jean ever sensed that, she seemed to be keeping it to herself.

"...Look," said Cyclops. "We've got a bit of a trip, so-"

"Wait a minute," said Megan, "'trip?'

"You weren't supposed to be our first stop." said Cyclops.

"Sorry to say," said Jean, "but he's right. We were supposed to be heading off towards Chicago."

"Chicago?," said Megan. About the only 'Chicago' she'd ever seen in her lifetime was the one movie with the half-naked women prisoners in their nickers. It was entertaining enough, she supposed, and yet, she now had the strange desire to see it again...

"Right, said Cyclops. "We got word that a traveling company from Europe's in town. And it just so happens that one of the performers is-

"A mutant?," said Megan.

"You got it," said Cyclops.

"But-"

"But," said Jean, "that still doesn't explain how we know he is what he is, or why we picked you up, right?"

"Yeah."

Jean smirked, ever so slightly. "Megan, I'm a telepath."

_Telepath? ...Wait a minute..._

"Oh..." Well, thought Megan, that explained a lot. "So, can you just, I dunno, find any mutant anytime you want, or-"

"Not exactly," said Jean. "But hey, stick with us, and you'll see soon enough."

"...Those people..." The three-eyed girl's hands were practically trembling now, her head again tilted towards the cold steel below her. "They... they took off my headband. It was... I had someone who was- who I thought was a friend. So... So I showed her. Showed her my eye. And then... and then..."

She then looked straight up at Megan, her eyes starting to tear up; they were shot wide open, almost as if they could see all. "And you! They... they thought you were a monster. I thought you were a monster. I..." She then ran straight into Megan, burrowing her face into Megan's chest.

"I... I don't..." She then took her face out of Megan's chest, and look straight down at her, almost pleadingly. "I... I'm sorry. You tried to save me, and then you did, but after the first time and before the second time-"

"Uh, hey! Don't sweat it!" Truth be told, Megan wasn't sure what to think either. It all didn't seem to bother her that much at first, but now that she had time to think some more about it, it...

She could never go back, could she? To her old school, her old friends, her family. But... she could try, couldn't she? I mean, maybe the girl's friend wasn't so understanding, but she was sure her friends – her family – she was sure they would understand completely. Deep down, she must have still been the same old Megan, maybe even better. It couldn't be so bad-

_It's a mutie! Get her!_

"Jean," said Megan, with a sense of calm that seemed almost strange coming from her, "what exactly is a mutant?"

#################################

"Guy... Oh, Guy... Hey, GUY! ...Guess he's still in his room. Figures."

Bobby Drake – a young, brown-haired man who had just reached adulthood recently – honestly couldn't bring himself to give a crap. What was he even doing here in the first place? ...Being ran out of town, for one. Yeah, that was definitely a memorable experience. One minute, he was making a snowman in the summer an-d showing off to his friends – 'Hey guys, look what I can do! – and the next, he learned the hard way just what exactly 'racial profiling' meant.

"And I wasn't even a black guy!", he suddenly blurted out. It then occurred to him that perhaps that wasn't something one should exactly say out loud. He looked down the corridor – a mahogany hall with some nice throwrugs – and, much to his dismay, there were several students, all ranging from almost perfectly normal to apparent freaks of nature, starting at him for a moment in sheer bewilderment, before shaking it off and going back to their feared&hated lives. "Yeah, good one Bobby," he said to himself. "Make everyone think you're some sort of racist..." Which he wasn't; not particularly, anyway. Growing up in a small town in the midwest, there were bound to be some lingering views of certain... 'types', of course, but he never really hated any of those 'types'! And in any case, he sure wasn't going to go running his mouth off about that sort of thing – on purpose, anyway – after what had happened to him. If it wasn't for the Professor...

But, time to get back to work. 'Work.' How he hated that word. Still, the kind of work he was involved in was better than just sitting around and doing coursework all day, which, seeing as he was pulled out of his first highschool early due to having to flee said highschool, is something he still was subject to at least three times a week. The other four days was... he supposed he could call it a job, but he wasn't exactly getting paid beyond free meals and a place to rest your head. Still, better than all school, all the time. He supposed he'd better get moving though. Otherwise, he'd have to deal with Sean shouting into his ear again. 'AND IF I CATCH YE WITH MY DAUGHTER AGAIN, BOY'O!...' That had to have been the worst ten minutes of his life, even worse than getting run out of town; 'Luck of the Irish' be damned. Course, if he was still back in school, he'd never get caught saying 'damned' within an inch of his life. Nice little Christian town and all. But after what happened to him – his friends, his family, his harassment by those were supposed to 'protect and serve' – he hadn't believed in much already by that point, but now, he believed in even less.

...And it seemed that he managed to make it to Guy's room. Well, he guessed he'd better see if 'mister sensitive' was in there...

"Guy? ...Uh, Guy? It's Bobby. Bobby Drake. I know we only met the other day – you gave me a nice couple of hits in the danger room, by the way. Totally awesome, and I'm totally gonna' get you back for that – but Xavier's located another mutant – another one like us, I guess – and Edie's still in some poor shape, so we're supposed to be going along with Sean to pick this new one up, and... uh, Guy? Buddy? ...You are in there, right?"

He pushed on the door just a bit; it was unlocked. Funny that. "Uh, Guy? ...Look, we kinda' need to get moving, so..." He creaked the door open just a bit... "Uh, Guy? ...Okay, sorry buddy, but we need to get a move on, so I'll just be popping in for a bit- WHOA! DUDE!"

Facing the door while sitting in the recliner was a young man, just a couple of years older than Bobby. His skin was a light purple, and small bumps seemed to cover his entire body; almost like acne. His hair was as white as bleach, and he had two long attenae, or feelers, sticking out of the top of his head. His eyes were closed, and he seemed somewhat... remorseful.

Oh, and he was pointing a gun straight to his head.

Bobby had to act fast. He hadn't been at this for long, but he knew enough to fire a blast of intense cold from his hands; cold enough to freeze Guy's own hand solid. Strangely, he just continued to sit there, even as he started to shiver like a vibrator...

"Are you insane?!," Bobby yelled. "I just thought you were overly sensitive, not that you had a death wish! Did you-"

"The gun wasn't loaded," stated Guy, as a matter of fact.

"What?" Well, thought Bobby, that was... odd. "The gun... wasn't loaded."

"No. It..." The man – Guy Smith, presumably - looked up at Bobby, his eyes starting to mist up just slightly. "This is something..." He paused for a moment. "Something I used to do... every single day. Only then, it was..."

"Are you serious?, said Bobby.

"It... The gun wasn't loaded." Guy sat there still for another a moment, and then rose like a loose plank shooting up. He was wearing a black&yellow leather suit; it was similar to Bobby's and the others, but unlike theirs, it covered every single inch of his body up to the top of the neck. "I heard every word. Let's go." He then looked at his hand. "My right hand is cold. Very cold..."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" said Bobby, as the pair started walking through the halls towards the elevator. "Look, I haven't been at this for long myself, but I don't think I'd be wanting to shoot myself before going on a single mission. Sure, life's been shit to me lately, but I don't think it'd ever get so bad that-"

"It did," said Bobby. "Life did. Life's been bad to me ever since I was five..."

"...Huh," said Bobby. "Surprised you remember that far back. Me, all I remember is calling my teddy bear 'Mister Buttertoes...'"

Guy didn't say a word. He was as silent as the grave. Something really seemed to be on his mind though. But as for Bobby, he didn't really care. Everyone had problems; to each, his own. "Ah well..." Now in front of the elevator, Bobby pushed a button, and after a few seconds, the doors opened up. "Come on, 'mister sensitive'..."

"It's the Orphan," said Guy, as they walked into the elevator.

"Really," said Bobby. "How's that?"

"My parents tried to murder me when I was five years old."

"Yeah," said Bobby, "yeah, whatever." But after a moment...

"...Wait, what-?!"

And as Bobby stood there, practically flabbergasted, the elevator door in front of him closed, as the two of them made their way beneath the mansion's ground floor...

###########################################

"...Uh, if if isn't too much of an inconvenience,", said Megan, "would you mind starting over again? It's a lot to take in..." Everyone was now seated within the Jet, except for Scott, his shoulders closed against his chest as usual.

"Megan," said Scott, "I understand that you're new to all this, but if you can't pay attention for-"

"Scott," said Jean, "she is new to all this. And it is a lot to take in. So I think we should give her a bit of leeway, don't you?"

After a moment, Scott said, "Sorry Jean. You're right."

She smiled at that. "Aren't I always? Now, Megan – are you listening too, Cory?"

"Yes ma'am..." Truth be told, Cory had listened to and perfectly understood every word that had been said since Jean had started her little 'lesson.' When her entire world wasn't immediately crashing down upon her, she was surprisingly a rather good listener.

"Good," said Jean. Now, how best to explain this... As you probably know, evolution is something that has occurred since the dawn of the Earth as we know it. When the environment changes around a species, the species adapts. And as you also probably know, it's an almost proven fact that monkeys evolved into what is now the dominant species on the planet; humans. However, it seems there was more to our species than meets the eye. To this day, scientists can't seem to properly explain it, or trace it's origins, but within ever so many humans lies the potential for... well, for change, basically."

"Change?", said Megan. "Like growing wings or... or suddenly dropping feet in height, that sort of change?" While part of her was strangely comfortable with either fact, another part was still rather distraught about the latter one...

Jean thought about it for a moment, a finger against her head, before saying, "I guess if you want to put it like that, sure. No-one knows when it started, but there's a gene in so many humans that, when someone reaches a certain age – usually their puberty years – that's when they start to change. Sometimes before, sometimes after, though a quick boost of adrenaline can help speed up the process, far as I understand it."

"You mean, when I fell through the construction tape-

"Wait a minute," Jean interrupted. "Ah, there we go. I usually don't go rummaging through people's thoughts unless they ask me to or it's an emergency situation, but surface thoughts aren't exactly something that's always easy to avoid." Another moment passed, and- "A switchknife? The asshole!"

Yeah," said Megan, now practically reliving part of the previous experience, "Tell me about it. But, you swear you didn't-"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," said Jean. So, back to our rousing lesson; yeah, when you fell through that tape, your gene must have kicked in a bit early. Now, when a gene activates, well, there's usually no surefire way to tell just how it's all going to turn out. You might end up like Cory over here – maybe an extra eye, a new appendage-"

"Gross!" Evidently, Cory had just conjured up a mental image of an extra arm grown straight out of her third eye; both Cory herself, as well as Jean Grey, were not amused.

"You got that right," said Jean. "...Sometimes, there's things you just don't wanna' see. But no; you, Megan, you're sort of on the... opposite end of the spectrum."

"'Opposite end?'", said Megan.

"Well," said Jean. not exactly. Trust me, there's some mutants who have had far more... 'interesting' changes than you, but I don't know still if you'd be able put on a trenchcoat and call it good, if you know what I'm saying. And even that would gather suspicion, even if you weren't a mutant."

Megan chuckled. She remembered seeing an old sketch from... she couldn't remember the name, but some old sketch comedy show, where an old man flashed his fine manhood to several innocent girls. Something about that seemed... fun, somehow...

"Now," said Jean, not everyone realizes this, but as it turns out, there's a third kind of mutant."

"A third kind?," said Mean.

"Yes. Megan, I don't have any extra appendages, no physical abnormalities; nothing that would appear out of the normal. And yet, I can read both your mind and those others with just a thought. How else would you describe this but a third type?"

"...Oh."

"It's not limited to people like me though," said Jean, "people who'd otherwise be able to pass as ordinary people. People who fall into the first kind of mutant, or even people like you, who fall into the second type, can get these powers as well. And – sad to say, but – this third type tends to get called in some circles – those who know about it – as 'Homo Superior.'

"Is that right?"," said Megan.

"Honestly, can you believe it?", said Jean, rising up out of her seat. "I never wanted to be 'superior' to anyone! I just wanted to – I still want to – I want to just live a normal life!"

"Jean..." Cyclops nearly placed his hand upon Jean's shoulder, but after a moment, she politely brushed it away.

"Don't worry Cyclops. I'm fine. But in case you couldn't guess, Megan, mutants don't exactly have the most positive rep. It's bad enough that some mutants get called 'Homo Superior'; the second type gets called 'Morlocks', after the underground-dwelling monsters from the 'The Time Machine."

"Ouch." Megan had never read the book herself, but she'd still heard about it. This was all almost starting to sound like bloody science fiction.

"Might as well be science fiction, Megan," said Jean. "Sorry about that; surface thoughts, you know? I can close myself off to most long-distance thoughts, but when someone's just a few feet away, it can still be a problem." She took a moment to get back to her original line of thought before continuing on. "And then the mutants who are just about normal get called, well, 'Almost Normal's.' Gets the point across, I guess, and it's not as bad as the other two, but still."

"So," said Megan, "this is all 'cause of, 'cause of of some gene."

"It's because of a lot more than that, girl." Stepping out from the cockpit was an old man, in his late 60's or so, dressed in similar garb as Cyclops and Jean, but with a brown bomber jacket and a Navaho headband beside. He seemed to be Native American. Then again, Megan would be Native Welsh, if you wanted to get technical...

"Forge?", said Cyclops. "Shouldn't you be piloting the plane?"

"We' about near our destination anyhow," said Forge. "Managed to get the old girl on auto-pilot."

"Um," asked Megan, "uh, that isn't your real name, is it?"

"It's as good a name as any," said Forge.

"Uh, right," said Megan. This just occurred to me – just popped into my head really – but wouldn't such a large plane as this make for a number-one headline on whatever passes as the national news in this country?"

Forge sighed. "Kids never just trust their elders these days, do they? No need to worry, kid; plane's got a state-of-the-art cloaking system. Only reason it wasn't on when we landed was so that you'd be able to find the plane."

"Ah."

"Yup," said Forge. "But like I was saying, this whole situation; it's the way it is because it's a matter of control.'

"Control?," said Megan.

"Yup," said Megan. "Think about it. They may be only be a few hundred mutants with actual powers, but-"

"Only a few hundred?"

"Yes," said Forge. "Yes there are. And there will be one less mutant around if she decides she should interrupt me again."

"Uh, yeah, well," said Megan. Sorry."

"Forge." Summers was a tad unpleased.

Jean couldn't help but chuckle. "Lighten up, Scott. You could stand to loosen up a bit. Go on, Forge."

"...So," said Forge, "in all likelihood, there's only a few hundred mutants that have actual powers, but to the Government, even that small a number could mean the same thing as a nuke. Maybe even several. And as far as they're concerned, any mutant could have that sort of power – any mutant. Wouldn't be surprised if some of the boys at the top wanted to put us into camps."

"Camps?" Cory looked up at Forge, her eyes anxious and filled with worry. "But, but I don't want to be sent to a camp!"

Jean seemed about to butt in, but Forge just kept on going, smiling re-assuredly as he did so, at least at first. "And you won't be. Not anytime soon, at least. See, the Government can't just do whatever it wants; not our Government anyway. We're practically at the top of the world; what sort of message would it send out if we just started caging whoever we liked? And the people wouldn't like that either. Some of them may even agree with some of the people up in Government for now, but they wouldn't like it if mutants starting getting put into camps. If it could happen to mutants, it could happen to them. It's just that they won't realize it unless it actually happens."

"So, no camps?"

"No kid; no camps," said Forge. But what we've got is a population that already distrusts its fellow man; what do you expect them to do with potential walking nukes that aren't even called 'human?' The very use of the term 'mutant' at least when applied to our kind, was cooked up to just divide us even more! And the fact that some of us don't even look human – and I just stood by all those years and watched it happen..."

"That's enough Forge," said Scott putting a hand on Forge's shoulder. "We've all got shadows in our closest we'd rather forget. I've got enough to last a lifetime. You've lived a lifetime. I think I can tell which of us is the worse off..."

Forge respectfully placed Scott's hand away from his shoulder. "I... Thanks, Cyclops. I just... "He took a moment before turning away. "This is just something I need to deal with myself. Nothing against you."

"It's a leader's duty to take care of his teammates." said Cyclops.

This wasn't exactly something Forge was used to. Here he was, a 67 year old man, getting chided by a youngster who could practically be his son, for- No. He wasn't chiding him. He was just trying to help. He had to remember that.

"Thanks Summers," said Forge, "but I think I can look after myself just fine. Won't be in the field that much anyway, today not withstanding."

"So," said Megan, "I know all about what I am – kind of – and what a mutant is, and why we're treated like Mr. Jonhson's daily trash-dump. But there's still one thing I don't understand. Who are you? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're all great blokes, but, you know; you don't exactly come across as a group of well-looking fellows flying something like this about like a Sunday drive 'round the block."

"Good point," said Jean. "We... How to explain this... As we've told you, some mutants go a step beyond just looking different than humans. Some can do something a bit... 'X-tra.'

"...Blimey," said Pixie. Sorry , I truly am, but... 'X-tra?' That's as if a boy was trying to ask me on a date and said, 'Hey, little pixie, wanna' do some flapping tonight?"

"You're both bad..." said Corey, shaking her head and looking away in disapproval.

"Uh, right," said Jean. Normally, the correct course of action for such a remark would be some good old after-school punishment, but not only was Megan not yet enrolled in the school, she could sense that something was... not quite right within the girl. Rather, it was right, at least according to her. She could see... soaring through beautiful vidirinan fields, clad in nothing but what nature bore her with, and... and acts of such carnal nature that would make even the most notorious of porno's look like family-friendly films by comparison. Strangely, every time such a thought popped up within Megan brain, it vanished not long after; she wasn't sure if even Megan herself was fully aware of such thoughts, or rather, that part of her thoughts might have started to become changed from what they used to be. Of course, there was nothing of major alarm just yet, but...

But there would be time for that later. For now...

"Moving on. So, X-tra power. Some mutants have them, but others don't. Now, some of us would probably like to do not much more than live within our old comfort zones and just live our lives, but think about it; if you found yourself possessing the power to, I don't know, control fire, and at the same time, became treated like the scum of the Earth, what would you do?"

"Well," said Megan, "I wouldn't do anything with it! Who wants to burn down innocent, defenseless forests?!"

"It's not just forests that I'm talking about, Megan." Funny, thought Jean, how the fate of the forests seemed to be the first thing that popped into her mind...

"Oh, right," said Megan. "Yeah, that would be pretty bad, wouldn't it?"

"You think?", said Forge.

"And that's why we're around," said Cyclops. "We – me, Jean, Forge, and many others – we exist to protect mutants from any humans that explicitly wish to harm, as well as mutants that wish attack humans."

"...But," Cory began to say, "what if there... what if there was something that threatened both mutants and humans?"

"Then we'd handle it," said Cyclops. "Actually, looking at it from an objective point of view, such a situation might actually help to bring mutants and humans closer together..."

"You'll have to forgive Scott," said Jean. "He likes to look at situations from... multiple angles. You get used to it." "And yet, she thought, in some ways, you never really do...

"...So," said Megan, "you use your special powers to... to fight both mutants and humans that could harm other mutants and humans?"

"That's 'bout the gist of it," said Forge.

"Are you superheroes or something?", said Megan. 'Cause if you were, that would be tidy as fuck!"

"One," said Jean, "if you're going to join our school, language, please. Second, I guess you could see it that way, but we don't really see ourselves that way. We just want to try and gain some level of peace between mutants and humans, and-"

"And making sure they don't kill each other first is practically part of our mission statement," said Forge," or I bet it will be, once we start really kicking off our operations."

"Forge-!"

"Jean," said Cyclops. "Look, I know Forge is being rather harsh, even when you yourself called me out, but I've realized that even if he isn't being very tact about it, he does have a point. Mutants and humans have never been on the best of terms. But what we're trying to do is change that; even if we can't truly change how mutants and humans feel about each other, the least we can do is move things one step closer to that goal."

"Right," said Jean, now turning again towards Megan. "And fighting other mutants and, at times, even other humans, are far from the only things that we plan to do."

"That so?", said Megan.

"Definitely," said Jean. "So far, we plan to show up at rallies, hold conferences, make public appearances, the works."

"Won't that just put you all in danger?", said Cory.

"Maybe," said Jean, "but it's better than keeping ourselves cooped up in some mansion and keeping separate from the rest of the world while it keeps going down a path that none of us agree with."

"And who's 'us?," said Pixie.

Jean smiled. "Who do you think?" She slowly pointed to the emblem upon her chest. "Call us the X-Men."

"X-'Men'?," said Pixie. "Isn't that being just a wee gender-specific? I mean, you aren't- unless you are...!"

That was enough to send Jean into a living riot of laughter; even Cyclops was doing his best to stifle a few chuckles.

"No, no," said Jean. "We actually thought about just calling ourselves 'X-People', but it didn't seem to have quite the same 'ring' to it. We then voted on either 'X-Men', or X-'Woman'. Still kind of sore on the end result, to be honest."

***BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!***

"That was fast," said Forge. "Sit tight. Someone has to land this thing." He hurried back to the pilot's seat. As he left, he gave a quick glance towards Megan before shifting his gaze back to the cockpit, and walking off.

"What's got his nickers in a twist?", said Megan.

"Don't worry about Forge," said Cyclops. "He just has some baggage, is all. Many of us do..."

"Uh, right. Can't we just sit here in the air and let, let whoever we're supposed to be meeting come to us? Like you did with me?"

"It's not that simple," said Cyclops. "You were in a desperate situation with nowhere else to go. Not so with our new mutant here, unless something's changed in the last half hour."

"So, what, are we just gonna' sit down and have a chat with whoever we're supposed to be meeting? It would sound a wee too simple if it were."

"Maybe, said Cyclops, "but mostly, we want to get a good look at our new potential recruit, and then, well, I suppose we'll just have to go from there.

#########################################

"Where shall we go from here?"

Hank McCoy was, to be honest, just a trifled confused. Oh, he had been to the mansion on occasion – he had even recently started teaching a class – but he still had yet to become truly accustomed to the trappings – at once both homely, spacious, and a potential treasure trove of fascinating research – of the Xavier Estate. Most did not pay much attention to the home of Xavier, but to a honed mind such as his, it was one of the more interesting locals in New York. There were even stories of an old ancestor of Charles that was buried alive on the estate, due to a tragic case of forbidden love. Under normal circumstances, he'd be rather skeptical, but since Charles – a most excellent fellow, by all accounts, was, like himself, both a mutant and rather unlike himself by comparison a rather powerful one at that - there was certainly the possibly for just about anything within the Xaiver family tree. Why, perhaps he even possessed a secret twin sister; one that no-one had ever known about until now...

Upon further introspection, that sounded less like a possibly actuality, and more like a bad comicbook plot.

_Does it now, McCoy?_

McCoy flipped himself to face his other side, landing perfectly upon his large, simian hands and feet. McCoy himself actually bore more than a passing resemblance to a large, hairless ape in cackies and a sweater – a fact that McCoy didn't much like to think about – but he was still able to pass quite adequately for a human, albeit a... somewhat abnormal one. He honestly wasn't quite sure what to think about that...

"Charles," said McCoy, bringing himself back up and smiling as he pushed his large, round glasses up the bridge of his noise. "You always do manage to retain the art of surprise, despite that one should be able to hear such a contraption as yours from the corner of the hall..."

Rolling towards McCoy was the man responsible for the very organization that both he and this man were a part of. In fact, this old man was the, for all intents and purposes, the head of all those who worked for the Xaiver Institute – himself included – as well as those who were a member of the newly-blooming X-Men. The man in question was a tall, lean man with a head so bald, you almost swore you could blind somebody with it at the right angle. He was dressed in fine clothes, but not too fine; a nice, plain business suit. But perhaps most striking of all were his legs. Or rather, lack thereof. Of course, it was not as if he didn't posses legs; quite the contrary. But considering he could no longer use them in virtually any capacity, he might as well have lost them. Such a powerful thought that even one such as Xaiver, who one would think would be crippled by unrelenting despair, would instead grow to become the leader of a movement the likes of which had little precedent before in the world, and even be one of the most powerful living beings on the face of the planet. A face that actually slightly scared McCoy. Could so much power truly be justly governed through one man? He supposed that's just what he'd have to find out.

"I have always believed – or used to, at least," said Xaiver, "that one of the most important facets of any life is the art of discretion. Of course, that was... a long time ago..."

"I'm not exactly sure if I would have liked to meet the you from 'a long time ago," said Hank. "From the sound of it, you weren't exactly a most open gentleman..."

"A fact I have long wished to correct," said Xaiver. "...You realize that you're standing directly in front of the elevator, don't you?"

"Hm?" Hank turned to his backside, and sure enough, right behind him... "You always do seem to have a most envious sense of clarity, Charles."

Charles held out his hand, and motioned it towards the elevator. "Shall we?"

Cheeky old bastard. Still, it was part of his charm. Beast pressed a button on the elevator, and soon enough, it opened straight up. However, there was something peculiar about it. Almost as if...

"Charles, did you send Bobby off on another errand again? Because, I dare say by my stars and garters, it seems to be awfully cold in here. Almost makes me wish I had a fur coat..."

"Always so observant," said Charles, as they walked into the elevator.

"'Observant'?," said McCoy. If you mean, 'obvious enough to shoot a bullet at it blindfolded with your back turned and still hit the target,' you're on the ball."

"Indeed." As the elevator's doors closed, Charles pressed a button labeled 'XB' – 'X-Men Basement', perhaps – and it began it's steady descent to it's destination. Hank had always marveled at the machinery and technology within what you would think would just be a run-of-the-mill mansion for the rich. That this elevator was capable of achieving such subterranean levels while doing so at record speed and with nary a sound was, in all aspects-

"Extraordinary?", said Charles.

"I must remember to better conceal my thoughts around such an esteemed 'gentleman' as yourself, Charles," said Hank. Otherwise, if we were to ever play a poker match together, the game would be over with most quickly."

"You play poker, McCoy?"

"Dabbled in it, on occasion. One never knows what they may or may not enjoy it if they do not try it. I'm still attempting to wipe the atrocity concerning the sparkling, pretty-boy vampire and his vapid, manipulative mistress from my brain. ...What exactly did you send Bobby on, if I may ask?"

"Oh, just a bit of scouting mission," said Xaiver. "I managed to locate another new mutant – _homo mutanis_ , of course – just the other day. Cerebro is truly turning out to be quite the marvel..."

"Ah, yes," said Hank. Cerebro. A device somehow capable of boosting a telepath's capabilities to search for anyone at any time on the face of the planet. Hank had always had particular qualms about it's use – a device such as this would make the current issues of governmental spying and lack of private security look trivial by comparison – but in the last few years that he had known Xaiver, he had proven to be a good, honorable man that Hank felt he could trust. And it did help new mutants like themselves who otherwise might not be able to get the proper help they would possibly need. Not that homo mutanis or 'homo superior' – God how he hated the term – were the only mutants they ever helped; after all, most of the school's population consisted of such mutants that didn't have the blessing – or, from a certain perspective, the curse – of particular powers or ability beyond what existed within their physical makeup.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," said Charles. "I also sent Guy in with him."

"'Guy?' You don't mean Guy Smith, do you? Isn't he the-"

"Yes, yes, McCoy. I recognize your concerns, and I share them. But Guy, he has been wanting to do something, shall we say, more for some time now, and, considering where he used to be, he has shown considerable growth. Perhaps actually doing something 'more' could help to further improve his condition."

"Perhaps." Guy Smith, as McCoy had come to understand it, was a most exquisite example of the horrors that some mutants had to face from their fellow man, or in this case, their own kin. He was also something of a rare genetic abnormality. Unlike most mutants, Guy's abilities manifested at an early; by the time he was 5, his unique bumps had already began to manifest upon his skin, and his attena had already begun to grow. His parents did what you would expect any loving, caring couple to do; burn their house down with the babe still inside, and leave him to die within the flames. If it hadn't been for a nearby firetruck that had already dealt with another fire just a few blocks down, it was in all likelihood that would not be with the Xaiver Institute today.

"You do know," continued Hank, "that he used to put a gun to his head every single day, in the hopes of ending his suffering and being done with it? Russian Roullete."

"Yes, I know," said Charles. "It is a sorrid fact that I have struggled to help Guy to end for years. He still does it, but-"

"Then why-"

"Let me finish," said Charles. "He still puts the gun to his head, yes, but he no longer does so loaded. He loads the gun with just one blank."

"...Well," said Hank, "that, at least, is better than the alternative..."

"Indeed," said Charles. "And he's still wearing the suit you and Forge developed for him that regulates his sensitivity."

"Regulates to an extent, but not fully," said Hank. "We were never quite able to get it just right..."

"You got it as right as you could," said Xaiver. "And now, this young man has a fighting chance at a normal life. Well, as normal as he can ever get. As all of us can ever get. Ah, that reminds me. Hank."

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind me asking, how are you and Trish? Is your relationship still going well?"

"Well, if you must ask..."

"No, I do not 'must'," said Charles, "but I would still like to know."

"Well, it's, it's going as well as could be expected..." Trish. Who would have thought that an investigative reporter and a strapping mutant such as himself could ever hitch it off? And yet...

"Does she know about-"

"No," said Hank curtly. "No, she does not."

"Well, I suppose still some of us are still prone to keeping secrets..."

"It's-," Hank started to say, before the elevator doors opened up, revealing the 'X-Men's Basement' below the mansion. It was practically filled with long, outreaching, metallic halls and doors, with many various rooms. One could wonder just how anyone was sure of just where they were supposed to go and how they were supposed to get there. Thankfully, having a telepath tended to come in handy; just lock onto someone that's already where you're supposed to go, and there you were.

"Look, Charles," said Hank, as they started to walk out of the elevator. " I've been meaning to tell her – perhaps she's even figured it out-"

"If she did,' said Charles, "you'd think she'd have told you..."

"I don't know," said Hank. Look Charles. I am... I usually do not tend to think of myself as a secretive man; a man who hides his problems rather then opening up about them. But this..."

But by now, the two were at the round, circular metallic door to the medical area.

"...This will have to wait," said McCoy. He pressed upon a small, circular panel next to the door, and just like that, it parted in four separate pieces, almost instantly sliding back into the surrounding wall. Within the now revealed room were several beds, medical tables, tubes, syringes, supplies; everything you'd expect to see in a hospital room. McCoy and Hank walked over to one of the tables, where, standing in front of it, was a black woman. She was just a few years older than McCoy himself – he in his late 20's, her seemingly in her early 30's – and, dressed in a white medical coat over casual gear, seemed to be sticking a popsicle stick under the tongue of a patient; a young woman with cropped red hair and blue skin. Sitting up on the table, she didn't appear to be in the best of shape – her breathing was slightly heavy, her hair was mussed beyond belief, and there were deep bags under her eyes – and yet, compared to when Hank had saw her last, she was still better off than she was.

Edie Sawyer. As far as Hank knew, she had once been a young mutant who had tried to do something... 'more' with her select role in the universe. Rather than be hated and feared, she had tried to be adored and loved, playing up her unique color scheme and her feats of teleportation almost as if it were all part of a show. But it was far from a show, as audiences soon caught on. After that, well, he was missing a few pieces in the puzzle, but suffice to say, her career turned downhill not long after that. But judging by how she appeared when he first saw her, he had the sneaking suspicion that her fall in fame wasn't entirely the fault of the people. She was a completely nervous, broken down, drug-addled wreck; how she appeared today seemed tame by comparison. Now however, she seemed to making a slow, but steady recovery. Which itself could present a problem, depending on just when Charles wished to start testing her abilities...

"Greetings," said the doctor. Ah yes, Cecelia Reyes. A rather admirable woman, from what he knew of her. She was a surgeon of respectable renown, though like all surgeons, she was unable to save all of her patients; a fact that did not sit well with the husband of such a patient. Accosting her right outside the hospital, she tried to explain the situation. He wouldn't listen; instead, he whipped out his trust rifle, and shot her in the back. If it hadn't been for her powers kicking in when they did – a force-field of sorts – she would not be alive to tell the tale. And sadly, one thing led to another. The attack was all over the news, including her sudden manifestation of her abilities. It was more likely that this merely the first time they have ever been publicly used, but that did not matter to the media, or to her employers. It eventually became clear to her that she was no longer exactly welcome at her old position anymore. Oh, she could still work if she wanted to, but she would always have to do so with the knowledge that her patients, her co-workers, might never look at her the same way again. And then Charles came in with a better offer and, after just a touch of protestation, she took the job. And now, she was the Institute's Chief of Medical Staff. And she was quite the woman. Why, thought McCoy, it it hadn't been for Trish...

"Kind of in the middle here, McCoy." Reyes took the stick out of Edie's tounge, and began pointing a small flashlight at her eyes. "Hm... Edie, I thought I told you to stay of the drugs."

"And I have!", said Edie, trying her best to smile as innocuously as possible, but instead ending up looking like she just received 100 dollars for a quick and dirty blowjob.

"You know, Edie," said Charles, "you might want to conceal your surface thoughts more carefully in the future. And you might also wish to be a tad more honest."

"Edie," said Cecelia.

"Look, I had just one little pill, just one, since we last met. I even cut the damn thing in half! If that isn't progress, I don't know what is!"

"Look Edie," said Cecelia. "I know we've made a lot of progress since you first came, and I know you think you're trying the best you can."

"But I am!"

"No, honey; sorry, but you got over your withdrawal just a few weeks ago. Now you wanna' risk goin' through all of that again?"

"No, but-"

"Then-"

"Look! My career's already down the tubes, THIS I know, I'm trying my GODDAMNED BEST, the least you could do is, I don't know, just indulge me every once in a while! Just a bit, huh? C'MON!"

"Not how that works, Edie."

"Ahem... Cecelia," said Charles, "if we could. 'speak' for a moment..."

"'Speak?' With you, that always mean somethin' a bit different..." _This better be quick. Still got a patient I gotta' take of, if it's all the same to you._

_Actually, it is precisely about your 'patient' of which I must speak-_

_Oh_ no _you don't. Look, I know you got high hopes for her, but the girl_ _'_ _s not ready to go_ _porting anything or any_ where _at the moment; she's still got a_ long _road before she makes anything close_ _to_ _a full recovery._

_I understand that, and I appreciate your concerns. But, just recently... I sensed-_

_Sensed_ what?

_Mutants. Specifically, 'homo superior', as they tend to call it._

_Never my favorite word, I can tell you that much._

_Yes. Nonetheless, I still sensed them, as I went through my routine checkup on Cerebro. Moreover, they are not exactly 'new', persay. Cerebero is still being perfected, after alll; it would make sense that some mutants that it was not able to detect before are only now appearing on it's rader, with perhaps more to come._

_And let me guess; you want Eddie to port over to these 'new' mutants? Pick 'em up?_

_Yes. I_ would _simply use one of the blackbirds, but they are otherwise preoccupied; the X-Men are using them to find_ _a few other 'new' mutants as we think._ _But, there is still one which I am... most peculiar about. This mutant, I believe, deserves my utmost attention, and I intend to give her it._

 _'Her?' This is a_ she _we're talkin_ _'_ _bout?_

_I believe so..._

_..._ _Look, I know this is real damn important to you, I'm sure it is, but I took the Hippocratic oath. I'm not about to endanger my patient just because you want to add another chip to the pile._

_. I make no pretensions about myself, and would be a fool to pretend I was a saint; this I learned many years ago. I completely understand your concern for , and I in fact commend_ _it_ _. And I would_ _be_ _perfectly, completely fine with simply waiting for the next available jet, or perhaps even contacting the X-men with Cerebro and having_ them _pick her up, if this were not of the most dire importance._

_I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me, Charles..._

_Indeed. Imagine, if you will, a mutant completely and utterly devoid of compassion, of empathy, who would stop at nothing to put all he sees his under his heel; in some cases, even literally. A mutant who treats woman as nothing more than pets, playthings to use and abuse, and who uses men as no more than tools. A mutant who has the same telepathic abilities as I, and absolutely no restraint in using them. What does that tell you, ?_

_...Tells me you're either damn desperate to get this new mutant, or you're telling the truth. I'm thinkin' you must be. You_ could've _just brainwashed me and took Edie wherever you the hell you wanted to go..._

_...If you put it that way. But you know I would never do such a thing..._

_I believe you. You still could've washed me when it seems things weren't going your way. But – far as I know – you didn't. ...So, you gotta' get there soon as possible, don't you?_

_Yes, I do. I would not be asking-_

_We've already gone over this Charles. So here's what we're gonna do. If it's that big a deal, I'll let you take Edie. But on one condition._

_You want to come along._

_You got it. I'm not just gonna' leave my patient to do whatever in... hey, where are we goin' anyhow?_

_The Serengeti Plains. Africa._

_Uh-huh. Never figured I'd actually set foot there; kind of ironic, when you think about it. So, do we need to go-_

_As soon as possible, yes._

_...Right. Well, if this is gonna' get a bit messy, I guess I'd better go get my uniform. Never thought I'd actually have to use it..._

_Yes. I_ am _sorry about this-_

 _Cut it. ...You_ knew _I was gonna' come along, didn't you?_

_Did I? But rest assured, I did not edit your thoughts in any way._

_I know you didn't. That ain't what concerns me. ...Let's get movin'. Got a new mutant to recruit, and maybe another to bash. And Professor; I still get the feeling there's something you aren't telling me. You seem to know this new mutant – the telepath – pretty damn well..._

_That would be because I_ do.

_#############################################_

_Halfway to Russia. It's a fast plane. No turbulence. Surprising. ...The water; I can't touch it from here, but somehow, I can still 'feel' it; refreshing, moist... cold. Almost as cold as-_

"Hey!", yelled Bobby at Guy. "You gonna' keep spacing out, or you gonna' get with the program?"

"Lad has a point, boy'o," said Sean from the pilot's seat. "If somethin' goes wrong, you'd be no use to us in the field as ye are. Somethin' troublin' ye?"

Sean Cassidy. Banshee. He was old. Experienced. Irish. Very, very Irish. "If something does happen, I will be able to handle it," said Guy. "But, no. No, nothing is..." He stopped before saying it again. "Nothing is-"

"Nothing's what? said Bobby.

Bobby Drake. Iceman. He was young. Inexperienced. Very, very annoying.

"Hey," said Bobby, "is this about your parents trying to kill you when you were five? Can still hardly believe it..."

Guy raised his head; his eyes started to mist up. He looked long and hard at Bobby, never giving an inch, until finally relenting, and turning back away.

"So, you were serious, huh?", said Bobby.

"I'm always serious," said Guy.

"Right. Well, uh," Bobby scratched the back of his head in a frenzy, as he attempted to think of a way to smooth the situation over. "You ever seen Life of Brian? ' _Always look on the bright side of life! Always look on the light side of life!_ ' Uh, how did the rest of the song go? Let's see here... ' _So always look on the bright side of death! Just before you draw your terminal_...' Um, sorry, dude. I can't believe I just went there."

"Leave the lad alone, Bobby," said Sean." God knows we all got our own problems to deal with; far as I can tell, he's got more'n most."

"I- yeah. Sorry about that, Guy. I guess."

"The both of you," said Guy, "the both of you; you don't need to worry about it. Really, you don't."

"I take back what I said," said Banshee. "For when someone says 'don't worry about it', either they really be just starvin' for attention, or there really do be somethin' ta' worry 'bout. But we can worry 'bout it later, lads; we be just about there."

As they continued to fly on, Guy could see the great Russian planes below them; grand, vast, tall, and wide. It almost made Guy want to move there. But he couldn't help but think back to his parents. To the fire. And the long years raised by an orphanage that never really wanted him to begin with, or that he could do nothing to help his... extraordinary sensitivity. Not until Xaiver found him. Took him in. Treated him like his own son; him and Cyclops. He always like Cyclops. Always found him interesting. He had grown to be a man who could control himself, but perhaps, grew to control himself too much. And as for Guy, in comparison, he might as well have been a man who couldn't always control himself enough. If it weren't for his suit...

He looked up at the ceiling. Black. Metal. Completely incapable of emotion. He almost wished he was the ceiling. Almost...

#######################

"Would you like your change?"

"What do you think, bub?"

'Bub.' Shouldn't have said that. Must have been a slip of the tongue. Hopefully, it wouldn't be noticed much, though he supposed a 5'2 runt beefed as hell, covered in body hair, and dressed from head to toe in blue jeans, a bomber jacket, and a cowboy hat was already damn noticeable as is. Still, he just couldn't resist. Nor could he resist picking up some raw fish&crab for a goddamned sushi dinner.

"Uh, well," said the cashier. "Okay then. Much obliged."

He flashed the cashier a grim look, before taking his change and doing his best not to storm out of there. He'd been trying to keep a low profile, but a fella' needed to eat, and a place to stay. He'd managed to find a job at 'Uncle Buck's Buck Huntin'!', since it turned out he was quite the natural when it came to buck, or dear, hunting, or any hunting at all, really. Not that he remembered. Or at least, he didn't how he became such an expert on the subject. In fact, he couldn't really remember much at all. Oh, he remembered some – bits and pieces; a memory here, a fragment there – but nothing that let him make some damn sense of himself. But he did know one thing for certain; he knew that he'd been like this ever since those... 'Weapon X'? Whoever they were, they'd kept him locked up like an animal in a cage; poked and prodded him; made him feel less than a man. And that's another thing he knew; he knew that he wanted nothing more but to be a man. He didn't know how, or why, but he knew. And yet, part of him just wanted to give in; give in to the hurt, the pain, the rage; a hurt and pain that he couldn't even remember if he tried. That is, aside from what Weapon X did to him. Funny, though; for all they'd done to him, all it took was one second with their figurative backs turned, and he was out of there! Wasn't quite sure how he did it, to be honest; all he knew was that one minute, he'd finally gotten an opening, and the next, he was across the Canadian border and on United States soil with so much blood on his claws. And that was another thing. Claws. Something most people didn't have, but then, he didn't seem to be 'most people.' He didn't care either way though; it felt 'right' to him, somehow.

He shoved all of that to the back of his brain. Time to be heading back home. Back to his goddamned apartment in the goddamned building in the goddamned part of town ought to have been condemned. Suited him just fine, in more ways then one. But most importantly, it gave him cover. He wasn't gonna' be treated like a damn dirty ape – and now he just remembered there was a movie called 'Planet of the Apes'; some of the hammiest acting he ever saw this side of Charleston Heston. Not that he really cared. But in any case, he didn't want to be locked up or treated like a damn lab rat ever again. And he wasn't going to be.

####################################

"Almost there," said Forge, back in the pilot's seat. "We'll pick our target up, then head on back to Xaiver's, 'less he needs up to do somethin' else first...

And as the Blackbird, still cloaked, landed near a set of trees, Megan wondered – aside from if she should just strip right now and fly off into the trees – just what was going to happen next...


End file.
